


For this—accepted Breath

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Attraction, Christmas, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Mistletoe, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: So soon after the shortest day, a long night-- not perhaps long enough for conclusion, but only reflection.





	

There was no one to tell—and nothing to say. She repeated that to herself at night, lying in the cold bed that had once been a luxury, watching the moon lose any gold as she rose, so distant and untroubled. Perhaps Mary was wrong and the Moon-men warred and fought among themselves and supposed everything was contentment and tranquility below. She had been wrong before. 

She’d thought she understood herself, a woman grown, and that she had reached some balance between her unchecked affection for Gustav, who was gone, and the new, tidal love she felt for Jedediah, who found her everywhere she went. She had not been remade as much as discovered and she thought she had accepted the new tributaries and borders within her heart. She had felt happy in the parlor with the officers about, the holiday decorations and festive meal all much-praised and she had known Jedediah’s eyes rested on her even without looking. He might say something, would say something tonight, she felt sure and he was being careful of her, so she only felt a sweet anticipation. There had been much laughter over the scant glasses of elderberry wine Miss Gibson had unearthed from some Alexandria cellar and fond smiles over the mistletoe and its consequence, as if they had all agreed they were among friends.

Dr. Summers, returned from yet another journey to Washington City, had given Mary a kiss on the forehead, much as her Uncle Frederick would have done, and said “God bless you, m’dear,” in such a similar tone she’d had to remind herself she was in Virginia and not a Manchester farmhouse. Captain McBurney and Dr. Hale in his wake had both brushed their lips upon her knuckles, Hale with as much dramatic bravado as he could muster under Nurse Hastings’s gaze, and wished her a merry Christmas and _Fröhliche Weihnachten_ , with the kind civility the situation called for. Jedediah had managed it so there was no call for him to kiss her in front of the others, had nodded smartly to her in his fine uniform and mouthed “later” before she could wonder what he meant. Oh, she had been so perfectly joyful, only the War’s end could have raised her spirits further!

She knew Henry Hopkins had meant to give her a decorous kiss on the cheek, as he might to his sister or aunt, a moment’s glancing touch before he smiled at her amiably and gave her a Christmas greeting. She had caught her heel in the hem of her skirt, perhaps, or simply lost her balance setting down the little glass of wine, but it was enough for her to shift, to turn her head and so he caught her parted lips with his. It was nothing, it was supposed to be nothing, but somehow it was not; his mouth was soft on hers and warm, she felt his clean-shaven cheek against her own, his unfamiliar scent stirred her… They were both startled and broke apart quickly, but she could taste him with the wine and she couldn’t say she didn’t like it. Mlle. Beaufort had saved them any undue attention, clapping her hands briskly and enjoining the officers to sing her “La marche des Rois Mages” as she declared they had promised and there had been much teasing and jollity as the men arranged themselves before her and missed Summers’s cue on his fiddle more than once. Mary had managed to settle herself as they sang, Hale the undisputed leader for once, and had not looked at Henry Hopkins’s face except the once, to accept his muted apology when he left to pray with some of the men. She tried to smile at him, her usual, friendly smile, but there was such tender confusion in his regard and a desire, unexpectedly reciprocated, a question she could not answer, and so she remained solemn. She had not thought to feel thus and did not want to, wanted to act least of all on the unrecognizable impulse within her. The gathering had broken up soon after, Jed called to attend to a boy by Samuel Diggs and he’d given her an apologetic glance before he strode from the room, unbuttoning his woolen coat as he walked in preparation for a surgery. She had not been sorry _later_ would be later still.

She’d lingered in the room, collecting the wine-glasses and little dishes that had held sweetmeats onto a burled tray with less than her usual efficiency, bidding each one a good evening as they left. Mlle. Beaufort murmured “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio” as she swept by, elegant in her severe, dark silk dress, her hair held by jeweled combs and her expression more consoling that Mary could recall. That was all the little guidance she had to try and parse her response, that had not been hers alone, something, oh something, when there should have been nothing. Something she could not speak of, could hardly think of without a blush, without touching her fingers to her lips in the appraising moonlight. She determined to put it aside, some rarity that would not recur, that she did not wish for, and thought of Gustav’s arm beneath hers as they walked home from church, his lively discourse on Schiller, Jedediah’s hand at her cheek, pushing back a curl that was loose, or his voice making love to her in earnest, always with such pleasure for himself in how much he meant what he said to her. When she slept and dreamed, she did not have to wonder whose dark eyes she saw and when she woke, she resolved not to consider it; not the choice the Frenchwoman would have made perhaps, but all that could be expected of a proper Yankee widow.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I just break Mercy Street? I got this bee in my bonnet to make Mary and Henry kiss and not have the "ew, it's like kissing my sister" even though it's sort of like Ghostbusters "don't cross the streams!" I liked the idea that Lisette noticed the whole thing and is not judgmental at all and that Mary doesn't know what to make of her reaction (neither does Henry) but that Mary at least works on accepting that something happened. I expect this story to not be a big winner with most folk and that's ok, I still liked writing it and I'm still mostly about Phoster.
> 
> The title is from Emily Dickinson.


End file.
